fiction

I Should’ve Ordered A Philly Cheese Steak

by

Chapter 9

Zeke was driving, Mickey was in the passenger seat. His arms wrapped around a package, ten inches by six inches by four inches. Zeke glanced over, “Any address on the package?” asked Zeke.

Mickey looked at it. “All the address says is P.O 191, 273 Court Street, Brockton, Mass 02302. That’s all. Can I shake it?”

“You crazy, Mickey. What if it is a bomb from one of Tony’s competitors?”

Mickey’s eyes widened as big as saucers. He bent over and pressed his chest against the package. “Slow down. If we crash we’re going be blown up. Why didn’t you tell me there was a bomb in the package. We’re going to die, Zeke. I can feel it. It’s going to hurt like hell when it happens,” said Mickey.

“I didn’t say there was a bomb in there, Mickey. I said maybe there’s a bomb in there. I don’t think there is a bomb in there because Tony said to hold the package for him until he was ready to collect it.”

Mickey breathed a sigh of relief. He straightened up. He said, “I could use a beer after that close call. You know how they say your life flashes in front of you when you’re going to die. Mine flashed in front of me and I saw the white light too. I guess I’m not ready to die.”

Zeke didn’t want to travel down that path, “It was a close call. Let’s go over to Marzelli’s and grab a sub. If he doesn’t sell beers, we’ll take our subs to go and pick up a six pack.”

“You got all the good ideas, Zeke. Your brain works faster than a forklift,” said Mickey putting his hear to the package. He added, “I don’t hear no ticking.  So, I think you are right, it’s not a bomb. You think we should take the package by Nonna after we have our sub and beer? Maybe she can use her inner eye to tell us what’s in it.”

Zeke turned left onto Warren Ave. “This is the Puerto Rican neighborhood. Know how you can tell?”

“How?” asked Mickey.

“Just look out the window. That’s all you see is Puerto Ricans,” said Zeke.

“I know a Puerto Rican, Julio. He’s a nice guy. He took me to a chicken fight one time and I won ten bucks. Julio taught me how to pick out a tough chicken,” said Mickey.

“How come I never met Julio? You never told me about the chicken fights,” said Zeke.

“The cops raided it the next night. Julio got arrested and since he had priors he’s doing five to ten at Cedar Junction. It’s too bad. Think about it, no body complains when they kill chicken and eat it. I call that murder. That’s different than assault. Besides, Julio was not doing the assaulting. It was the chickens doing the assaulting,” said Mickey.

Zeke tried to respond. His brain refused to send a signal to his mouth. He nodded his head and pointed to Marzelli’s. It was packed. He pulled into his reserved spot. The one in front of the fire hydrant. He got out of the car. Mickey got out still clutching the package. The boys walked into Marzelli’s ordered a large meatball sub and a large Philly cheese steak sub and two beers. They took their orders and sat in the only empty booth. Zeke sat facing the door. Mickey placed the package on the seat next to him and faced the window.

“This meatball sub is good. It’s really good. Marzelli should franchise. How’s the Philly cheese steak. Maybe I shoulda got that. I haven’t had one since I went to the Pats game with you last September,” said Mickey.

“The best one I ever had. I like the idea of going back to Nonna. Maybe she’s done with making a curse. I was thinking what if there is a million dollars in this package and we’re carrying it around,” said Zeke.

“Can I peek?” asked Mickey.

Will the boys succumb to the temptation to look inside the package? What will Nonna advise them to do?

Schmucks Do His Dirty Work

by

Chapter 8

Zeke and Mickey sat in Zeke’s Chevy parked on Court Street in Brockton, across from Security Postal. Next to Security postal was a Goodwill drop off store, next to the Goodwill store a liquor store, and on the other side of Security postal was a boarded-up sub shop. The buildings, were stuck together since some time early in the last century and looked like they were never cleaned.

“This place gives me the creepies. Why would Tony, who’s got so much dough, pick a place like this for his mail pickup.”

“That’s because he never goes here. He sends schmucks like you and me,” said Zeke.

“What do you think is in the box. Do you think the cops are watching? What about the guy on NCIS? What’s his name?” asked Mickey.

Zeke took a sip of Dunkin Donuts coffee along with a bite of a raspberry jelly donut, mixed the donut and coffee inside his mouth, chewed somewhat then swallowed. When he finished, he said, “I saw this rerun of CSI. I think it was CSI Vegas. No, it was CSI Phoenix. No, it was CSI Chicago.”

“No, I know the one you are thinking about, is it CSI Jersey? I know it’s either that one or CSI Worcester,” said Mickey.

“They never made a CSI Worcester. Half the country can’t say the name right,” said Zeke.

“Then it’s to be CSI Jersey,” said Mickey. He continued, “There was this guy and this other guy and they was going to break into a lab and torch the whole thing to destroy the evidence.”

Zeke interrupted Mickey, “Mickey, what’s this show got to do with picking up a box inside Security Mail?”

A confused look came over Mickey. He fell silent for a moment, then he said, “Nothing. I just like that show. I was thinking we could learn something from it.”

Zeke said, “I’ll have to remember to watch the rerun. Here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to go in and get the box and I’ll keep the car running in case we have to make a quick getaway.”

“That doesn’t sound fair, Zeke. We should flip a coin to see who gets to go in,” complained Mickey,

“Can’t,” said Zeke.

“Why,” said Mickey.

“Because I only have insurance coverage for me on this car. And, I don’t have you on the policy. You’d be in big trouble if you got in an accident,” said Zeke.

Mickey thought about for a second, he scratched his groin, “Thanks for thinking about me, Zeke. What’s the number of the box?”

“It’s on the key. Here it is. It’s 1 6 1,” said Zeke handing the key to Mickey.

Mickey took the key and looked at it, “What if it’s 1 9 1? It could be. Look? If I put the key into the wrong mailbox, somebody might think I’m up to something and call the cops.”

Zeke looked at the key. He flipped it over several times, “Why’d he have to go and get a number that can be two numbers? The way I figure it we got only a chance in a hundred to picking the right box. When I get nervous, I like to eat. I wish the sub shop wasn’t closed.”

Mickey said, “I got an idea, Zeke.”

“What?” said Mickey.

“We both go in. Since you’re the brains, you go to counter and asked whoever is behind the counter if they know where you can find a sub shop because you’re hungry for a sub. I go and try my key in 1 6 1 and if it doesn’t work I’ll try it in 1 6 2 and keep going until I get to 1 9 1.”

Zeke said, “This is a good idea, Mickey. I got one little tweak I gotta make. You try 1 6 1 first and if it doesn’t work you try 1 9 1. You skip everything in between.”

“You sure, Zeke?” asked Mickey, a worried look on his face.

“I’m sure,” said Zeke.

“I got another question, Zeke?”

“What is it, Mickey?” asked Zeke.

“When you ask about a sub shop, ask if they know one that makes good meatball subs,” said Mickey.

“Okay,” said Zeke.

The boys got out of the car and crossed the street. Zeke walked in first, Mickey followed. There was guy behind the counter sorting mail. Mickey walked to the mailboxes. Zeke went to the counter.

“You know where I can get a good meatball sub?” asked Zeke.

“Do I look like Bobby Flay on the Food Channel?” snapped the guy behind the counter.

“You bear a remarkable resemblance if you had hair and real teeth. But I am being respectful and I would like some respect in return,” answered Zeke.

“I don’t respect myself, why should I respect you?” said the guy behind the counter.

Zeke looked over his shoulder, Mickey was trying to jam the key into 1 6 1. Zeke turned back to the guy behind the counter, “For one reason you should respect me, I don’t pee on your door when you are closed. Your door smells like hell.”

“It’s the damn homeless people. They think my door is a urinal. You’re not a bad guy. I’ll tell you the best sub shop in the city, it’s Marzelli’s over on Warren Ave. Don’t go past the 1200 block, that’s where all the Puerto Rican’s live. They don’t know a good sub from a bad hamburger. Know what I mean?”

Zeke looked over his shoulder, he saw Mickey pulling a box out of 1 9 1. “I know what you mean. Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. Now, get the hell out of here.”

What’s in the box? Will Zeke and Mickey go to Marzelli’s for a sub?

Nonna’s Working On a Curse

by

Chapter 7

Nonna’s eyes remained closed. She began speaking in Italian.

Mickey nudged Zeke, “What’s she saying, the folks never taught me Italian?”

Zeke said, “She’s talking to Rocco, her dead husband.”

“What she asking him?” asked Mickey.

“She’s asking him to tell her what Tony is up to. Be quiet, I think Rocco’s talking to her, she’s nodding her head,” said Zeke.

“Can I ask her to talk to my Nonna? If she can’t, what about Johnny Gilarani? He owes me ten bucks? He was going to pay me on payday and then he went and got hit by a car.”

Before Zeke could answer Mickey, Nonna opened her eyes, she blessed herself six times. Pushed herself off her chair with considerable effort and walked to a kitchen cupboard. She opened the cupboard door. Inside the cupboard were three shelves of votive candles in varying sizes. She moved several around and cursed in Italian. These were words both Zeke and Mickey knew and frequently used.

“Ah, I got chu, you son of a bits,” said Nonna. She took hold of the votive candle and carried it to the table. She set it on the table, struck a match and lit it.

The glass container of the votive candle had a picture of a vulture picking at the carcass of a squirrel.

Nonna chanted words in Italian over the votive candle. When she finished, she looked at Zeke and Mickey and said, “The rabbit sleeps on a rainy day.”

“What she talking about?” Mickey whispered in Zeke’s ear.

Zeke ignored Mickey, “What else can you tell us Nonna?”

“Don’t taste the sauce until it’s cooked,” said Nonna.

Nonna closed her eyes again, folded her hands, and spoke, “The cow that’s about the give birth, waits for the apple to fall.”

“I understand what you’re saying, Nonna. Can you be clearer so I can explain it to Mickey?” said Zeke.

Nonna raised her eyes toward the ceiling and began speaking. She was gesturing wildly with her hands. She cursed, and swung her hand as if she was slapping at a fly. Nonna took a deep breath and opened her eyes. She said, “I was talking to Rocco. I think he’s having an affair with Margarita. I was worried, if he died he’d go looking for her as soon as he crossed over. She always had her fingers in him. I’m a going scratch her eyes out when I get to heaven. Then I’m a going ask Saint Peter to toss her into hell. “

“What did Rocco tell you about Tony Gallino?” asked Zeke.

“I give it to you straight. He said you boys are up the creek and you don’t got no paddle and you don’t got no boat. He said, you boys got less chance than a turkey the week before Thanksgiving.”

“Can you help us?” pleaded Zeke.

“I don’t got no time to you help you now. I gotta work on a curse on Margarita. Come back in three weeks. I see if I fit you in between curses.”

Poor Zeke and Mickey, what will they do? Are they really up the creek without a paddle?

Is She Dead?

by

Chapter 6

Nonna placed three saucers and cups on the table. She walked to the kitchen counter and lifted an old coffee percolator and carried it to the table.

“You boys need cream, or you men?” she said.

Zeke said, “No cream for me, Nonna.”

“That’s a my boy. What about you, Palitroni?” asked Nonna.

“If I have sugar, will I still be a man?” asked Mickey.

Nonna stared at him, “I never know a Palitroni who’s a real man. You just like the rest of your scum family. No sugar. Grow up,” said Nonna.

“Mickey’s okay, Nonna. His mother, Gina, was a Strollo. She left Tubby Palitroni when Mickey was four. Then she got an annulment because Tubby was involved with Mary Luizzi,” said Zeke.

Nonna whacked the side of her head and then blessed herself four times, “The Luizzi’s they worse than the Palitroni’s. I tell you Tubby’s a no good son of a you know who,” said Nonna.

Mickey said, “Who?”

Nonna looked at Zeke, “He’s a not too bright of a bulb, am I right?”

Zeke shrugged his shoulders. He knew Nonna was right, but didn’t want to hurt Mickey’s feelings. Zeke took a sip of his coffee, set it down, picked up a biscotti and dunked it into the coffee before taking a bite. When he finished chewing his biscotti, he said, “I love your biscotti. I can’t find good biscotti in stores, where do you get them?”

“My friend, Angelo Marcella, he got a friend who has a friend, who knows somebody. That’s how I get them. Now no more small talk. I got things to do. I can’t waste my time talking to two losers, now what you got for me to help you with?” asked Nonna while she took the plate of biscotti’s away.

Zeke said, “We got a problem. You know Tony Gallino?”

Nonna said nothing. She closed her eyes. For a moment, Mickey thought she died. He nudged Zeke and mouthed, “Is she dead?”

Before Zeke could say a thing, Nonna said, “I’m a not dead you jackass. You still got a lot a Palitroni in you. Now keepa you mouth shut while Zeke tells me about Tony Gallino.”

“It was this way, Nonna. Mickey and me were in Gus’s bar having a few beers because we had a tough day.”

“That’s a bullsheet. How can you have a tough day at ten in the morning? No more lies big or little.”

“How’s she knows this stuff?” whispered Mickey.

“What I tell you Palitroni, keep a you mouth shut. I gotta the inner eye. I know things nobody knows, even me,” said Nonna.

“Well were in Gus’s bar talking about this and that when Tony Gallino walks in. He says he’s looking for Mickey and me and he wants us to do him a favor. He says he has box at one of those postal stations in Brockton. He wants us to pick it up a package. I’m supposed to hold on to it until he tells me to bring it to him. He said not to open it or shake it. I’m supposed to hide it so nobody knows nothing about it. He already gave us a hundred and he’s going to give us another hundred when we bring the box to him. We figure if we do a good job, he’ll hire us, then we’re on easy street. Gus thinks we’re crazy for getting involved with Tony. We’re also on a first name basis. What should we do, Nonna. Do we give Tony his money back? Do we pick up the package?”

Nonna had her hands folded across her belly. The index and thumb fingers of her right hand were twisting a gold wedding band put on her finger by Rocco.

What will Nonna tell the boys? Will Tony Gallino like what Nonna tells the boys?

It’s Our Lucky Day

by

Chapter 3

Tony Gallino told Zeke and Mickey what he needed done. The boys nodded. Tony left without saying a word. Gus kept washing beer mugs and shot glasses. He wanted no part of what he heard.

Zeke turned to Mickey, “Looks like our luck finally turned, we’re rolling in clover.”

Mickey placed his mug to his lips and let the beer roll down his throat without so much as a swallow reflex. He finished, put his mug on the bar, burped, and wiped his face on his bare forearm. He turned to Gus, “Gimmie one of those expensive dark beers. Put it on Tony’s tab.”

“Me too,” said Zeke.

“This is how it’s got to be to wake up and know you hit Powerball,” said Mickey.

Gus was pouring a draft of the dark larger into a mug and was thinking, what a couple of schmucks.

“It’s better than hitting Powerball. I’ll tell you why, Mickey. It’s a good thing we never hit the Powerball because everybody who hits it dies,” said Zeke.

“You got to be kidding me. And here I am buying ten tickets a week. I buy even more when the money gets up there. It’s like I’m asking to win so I can croak,” said Mickey reflexively sticking his left arm out to catch the sliding mug of larger.

Mickey turned toward Gus, “Me and you coulda played for the Sox. We’re a good combo. You play shortstop, me at second base. Nothing woulda got through.”

Gus said, “I could never hit a curve ball. You guys know everybody dies, right?”

“But they die faster if they win Powerball,” said Zeke defending his turf.

Gus shrugged, “If you say so.” He thought, no sense arguing with geniuses.

Zeke and Mickey clinked their dark lagers and took a long drink. Both guys went through the ritual of the burp and forearm wipe. Zeke said, “If we do good, we don’t have to look for work. Tony will bring us into his organization. Then we’ll be living the good life.”

Gus edged himself down the bar toward Zeke and Mickey. He got in front of them, wiped his hands on his apron, looked around the bar to make sure no one was listening. There was no one listening because they were the only people in the bar unless the Feds had bugged the place. This was always a possibility with his clientele.

Gus bent over toward the boys, he whispered, “How long I know you two guys?”

“Is this a trick question?” asked Mickey.

Zeke said, “You know us since you opened this place twenty years ago.”

“That’s a long time. Did I ever steer you guys wrong? Did I give you guys tickets to Patriots games when I couldn’t go? Did I give you free drinks on Christmas Eve before I closed?”

Mickey looked confused. Too many questions. He was still processing the first question, “I think it was twenty-one years.”

Zeke who had two fewer beers than Mickey was a bit more coherent, said, “All the above is true. What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Between us and I will deny I ever said it if you repeat to anybody, plus I will bust a bottle over your heads if you repeat a word of what I say, you understand?” said Gus.

“Hey, Gus, you know us, it’s in the vault. You and Marie splitting, is that it? I never hit on her. It wasn’t me,” said Mickey.

Gus wanted to bust a bottle across Mickey’s head but resisted the temptation. He said, “This is what I got to say, do you really want to get mixed up with Gallino? Do you really think the package is harmless? I tell you to think about it. And, don’t spend the one-hundred. You ought to give it back. That’s it. I’ve said my piece.” Gus turned and walked down to the end of the bar and returned to washing mugs and shot glasses.

Zeke looked at Mickey. Mickey looked back at Zeke. Zeke turned and stared into his beer. Mickey finished his beer and signaled for another one. He turned to Zeke and said, “What are we going to do, Zeke? I’m scared.”

Are Zeke and Mickey in over their heads? What is in the box? What’s Tony Gallino up to?

Friends to the End

by

Chapter 1

Zeke Pratti sat on a swivel stool at Lombardi’s Bar and Pizzeria staring into his mug of beer. He was separated by a stool from Mickey, the nose, Palitroni who was lifting his mug of beer over his head and coaxing the last drops from the mug to drop into his mouth. Gus Polati, the bartender, was at the end of the bar. He was washing beer mugs. Lombardi’s opened at ten in the morning. Zeke and Mickey were on their stools by five after ten. They consumed their first beer by ten fifteen. It was now eleven. Mickey was finishing his third beer. Zeke was contemplating life as he gazed into his third beer.

“I’m one up on you, Zeke. Want to try for six by lunch?” asked Mickey.

“Not today, Mickey. I’m going through an existential funk,” said Zeke.

“Huh? I heard of funk. I never heard of the other word. Did you watch PBS last night? What I tell you about that channel. It’s run by commies, pinkos, and vegetables.”

“You mean vegetarians?” ask Zeke.

“You talking about the people who do the birth control thing on dogs and cats, which I do not approve. Why don’t they teach dogs and cats to use condoms? Nobody wants to answer that question. These are same people who give dogs and cats rabbit shots. Am I right?” asked Mickey.

Gus looked down the bar toward Mickey and wondered if he should cut him off before he became a danger to society.

“I used to date one of them,” said Zeke.

“A vegetable, or a vegetarian?” asked Mickey.

“The one who works on dogs and cats,” said Zeke.

“What happened?” asked Mickey signaling Gus for another beer.

Zeke quit gazing into his beer, lifted the mug to his lips, took a look swig, put the mug down on the bar, and wiped his mouth on his hairy forearm. He said, “The local beers have been the best invention since they invented toilet paper.”

“I’ll give you that one,” said Mickey. Then he said, “What about the vegetarian?”

“It was going great. I mean we got along like cheese and pizza, like meatballs and spaghetti, you know what I mean?” asked Zeke.

“Yah,” said Mickey as he stuck his left hand out to the middle of the bar to catch the sliding mug of beer from Gus.

“Man, she had it all in all the right places. Everything was good until she decides to ask me the one question that scares the daylights out of me,” said Zeke.

Gus is interested. He moved down the bar so he could pick up the conversation.

Mickey took a sip of his fourth beer and said, “She wanted to get married? That’s what all the dame’s want.”

“No. I coulda handled the proposal. Just because you agree you want to get married, doesn’t mean you have to get married, see what I’m saying?” asked Zeke.

“Yah, I see it. But you got my interest picked,” said Mickey.

Gus wondered if Mickey meant piqued.

“She dropped the bomb on me. She says to me before I have my first beer of the day, which I usually have with breakfast, ‘When are you going to get a job and get of unemployment?’”

Mickey made the sign of the cross, “This is like the worst thing a broad can ask. She wanted to take you off the gravy train after all you did for her?” asked Mickey.

“To be honest, I didn’t do nothing for her except let her enjoy my entire personality if you know what I mean. I’m in my prime. I can go forever.”

“Maybe it was her time of the month, you know how that goes. I remember when I was with Isabel, I thought I was under a terrorist attack,” said Mickey before he took a long drink from his mug.

“That’s just it, she’s got common sense. She’s always even keel. I knew when she said it, the honeymoon was over. How long we been best friends, all our life, right, don’t answer, I know I’m right. But let me ask you, I had ten weeks left on unemployment. It’s a free vacation from the government. Do you agree you got to be stupid to go to work when you are getting paid for not going to work.” said Zeke.

“It does not take a genius to figure that one out. Did you explain this to her?  asked Mickey.

Gus was also interested, although he had an inclination as to what happened.

“I told her what I told you. She must have been expecting that because she had a plastic bag filled with my dirty clothes and tossed them at me and said, “Get out and don’t call me, ever.”

“That was both tough and unfair. In the pros the refs ususaly give you a warning. I think that should go in relationships,” said Mickey.

“That’s genius, Mickey. I was getting tired of her. I was starting to look around while she was working. But the only women I could find were all married or with somebody. I got ethics. I won’t do that, especially if the guy is bigger than me,” laughed Zeke.

Mickey high fived Zeke. Gus wondered why they’re walking around loose.

Zeke continued, “The tough part is I only got one week left on unemployment and no prospects. How about you.”

“I run out this week, and I got no prospects,” said Mickey.

At that moment, fortune and fate decided to turn its light on the best friends. The door to Lombardi’s Bar and Pizzeria opened and Tony Gallino walked in.

Come by tomorrow to discover how fortune and fate smiled on Zeke and Mickey.

We’re All Friends, Right?

by

Chapter 2

Tony Gallino, dressed in a handmade, dark Italian silk suit, wearing hand crafted Italian made shoes, crafted from the finest calf’s skin, walked through, the door, stopped and waited. It wasn’t long before he heard what he expected to hear.

“Morning Mr. Gallino. Can I get you anything?” asked Gus with a differential tone.

Tony Gallino shook his head and looked at Zeke and Mickey.

Zeke and Mickey on hearing Gus say, ‘Morning Mr. Gallino,’ turned their heads toward the door. Zeke jumped into the batter’s box, “How’s it going Mr. Gallino, anything I can do for you,” said Zeke.

Mickey was only a step behind Zeke, “The same goes for me Mr. Gallino.”

Tony Gallino didn’t answer right away, instead he walked over to the bar and looked at Gus, “Whatever Zeke and Mickey are drinking, put it on my tab, Gus.”

“Sure thing, Mr. Gallino.”

“You want to take a stool and have a cold one with us, Mr. Gallino?” asked Zeke.

“Not today, fellows. I need a favor. I was wondering if you two could help. That is, if you’re not busy,” said Tony Gallino.

Mickey didn’t wait, “Anything, Mr. G. Anything. You name it, me and Zeke, we can do it.”

Gus wondered where the Mr. G came from. Gallino didn’t bat an eye. Gus thought about it, quickly decided he’d never try it.

Tony Gallino said, “I have a slight problem. I have a small box I need to be delivered to a friend. I don’t want to send it by mail because I don’t trust the postal service.”

Zeke cut in, “I know what you mean. Last week I saw a delivery guy toss a bunch of mail in the trash because it was the end of his day and he wanted to go home. I went into the trash and pulled out the mail. Most of it was ads and stuff, but there was birthday card for some grandmother with five crisp twenties in it. Even though it wasn’t my birthday, I figured why not, the mail was discarded.”

“You didn’t tell me about you hitting the jackpot, Zeke,” said Mickey, disappointed.

Zeke shrugged and didn’t say anything.

Gallino interrupted the two, “That’s why I came to you two guys, I heard a lot about the way you think and take advantage of opportunities.”

“That’s us,” said Mickey thinking it was a compliment.

“Where exactly is this package and to whom do we deliver it? No offense intended, Mr. Gallino, but we’re not doing anything that could get us in trouble, are we?”

“I’m an honest businessman, you boys know that. I’d never ask anyone to do anything that was against the law,” said Gallino with a straight face.

Gus pretended he didn’t hear a thing. Then he thought, what a crock of crap.

“You each get $200. I’m going to give you the first $100 now. I’ll give you the second $100 when the jobs complete. If there are no mishaps, there will a bonus coming to you. The package is in a large mailbox at Security Mail in Brockton. It’s just off of main street on Court Street. You can’t miss it. It’s mailbox, 1202.”

Gallino reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his genuine soft leather billfold. Here’s a hundred apiece,” he said handing a hundred dollar bill to Zeke, and then one to Mickey.

He reached into his pants pocket and removed a small brass colored key, “Here’s the key,” said Gallino handing Zeke the key.

“First of all thanks. Nobody ever paid us in advance for doing a job. It shows a lot of trust in us. We appreciate it. What do we do when we get the box, Mr. Gallino,” said Zeke.

“Hey, what’s with the formality, you can call me Tony. We’re friends here, right?”

Gus thought, I wouldn’t touch this one for a million dollars.

“Here’s what I need you to do with the box once you have it.”

Are Zeke and Mickey getting in over their heads? What does Gallino want them to do? What is inside the box?

You Can’t Make This Stuff Up – Part II

by

Steve kept checking the time on his iPhone. When he wasn’t checking the time, he was checking his airline app. His flight was still on time. His flight would be boarding in 15 minutes. Five minutes later the TSA agent returned. “You’re cleared. Have a nice trip.”

Steve said, “Thank you.” He didn’t mean it, but he didn’t want to be held up for a bad attitude. He could still make his flight.

He went to the next stop. He took off his shoes and put them into a plastic container. He removed his belt, wallet, watch, and pulled out loose change and put them in a different plastic container. He sent the two containers forward. He removed his computer and put it in another plastic container. He placed it on the rollers and gave it a push. Next, he sent his backpack through separately. He placed his suitcase on the moving line and waited his turn to go through the X-ray machine.

Steve stepped into the X-ray machine, he stood on the footprints, and placed his arms over his head and watched the machine make its circle. He stepped outside and the TSA agent motioned him over to the side.

“Sir, do you have any metal on you?”

“No,” said Steve.

“I am going to have to perform a pat down.”

Steve resigned himself to the pat down. The agent’s hands went down each leg.

The TSA agent said, “Do you have any metal on either of your wrists?”

“No,” said Steve.

“That’s not consistent with the information from the X-ray. Please stick your arms out to the side,” said the TSA agent.

Steve thought, it’s the grunge, my tan, they’re profiling me. That’s what they’re doing. They think I’m from the middle east.

“Excuse me, I’m not from the middle east,” said Steve.

The TSA agent who was slowly working his hands along Steve’s right arm said, “I didn’t hear anyone ask you where you were from. Don’t speak until someone asks you to speak.”

Two minutes later, the TSA agent finished. He said, “Go figure. You’re clean. Have a good flight.”

Steve nodded and went to get his bags. He picked up his shoes, then he retrieved his belt, wallet, watch, and loose change. His computer came through. His suitcase was next. He felt confident he make his flight. He watched his backpack make its way toward him. He was about to reach for it when …

“Sir, is this your backpack?” asked a TSA agent.

“Yes?” Steve said more with a question in his voice than as an affirmative statement.

“We’re going to have go through it. Is there anything in the bag that can explode, injure another person, or be used to inflict harm on a passenger or crew member?”

Steve wanted to tell the agent she was nuts, but now knew he had five minutes until his plane boarded. He said, “Nothing. I have an iPad in there, ear plugs, Kleenex, nuts and protein bars. I have a pen.”

“Is that all you want to declare?” said the agent. She gave him a I don’t a word you said look.

“Yes?” Steve said knowing he wasn’t sure exactly what was in his backpack. He always got through security before, why should it be different now?”

The TSA agent motioned Steve to a table. She put on latex gloves and unzipped the backpack. Over the airport PA system, Steve heard, “Flight 6437 for Boston, is now boarding.”

“Could you hurry? My plane is boarding,” pleaded Steve.

“No. We don’t hurry. Our first concern is the safety of passengers and crew,” said the TSA agent.

The agent’s hand froze inside Steve’s bag. A look of victory slowly spread across her face. She removed her hand. She was holding three protein bars. “What are these?” she asked.

Steve wondered if she was serious. All she had to do was read the wrappers. He said, “Protein bars.”

“Are you sure they’re protein bars?” said the TSA agent.

Before Steve could answer, he heard, “Last call for flight 6437 for Boston.” Then he said, “Yes.”

“I have to have my supervisor check them, stay right here,” the agent said. She turned and walked to a burly looking guy inside a windowed booth.

Steve watched the agent show her supervisor the protein bars. The supervisor said something to her. She turned and pointed at Steve. The supervisor got out of his chair and stood, getting a better look at Steve. He said something to the TSA agent. She nodded and returned to Steve.

“We are confiscating your material. It will be examined. If there is an issue you will be reported. Here is your bag, have a happy trip.”

Steve didn’t answer. He stuffed ear plugs, Kleenex, and assorted things back into his bag. He grabbed all his other gear and ran toward Gate 6. When he reached Gate 6, the airline employee was returning from the plane.

Steve held up his iPhone. Can I get on, I was help up at security.”

The airline employee said, “Sorry, I the plane is boarded. I gave them the list of passengers.”

“But, but it’s right there.”

“Sorry sir. Why don’t you go to the check-in station and get on the next flight to Boston. It leaves in two hours. Of course, you’ll have to go through security again.”

Yes, Steve did on the next flight. Yes, he made it to Boston on time for his presentation, but he missed a nice dinner with colleagues. You can’t make this stuff up.

He Forgot To Put Down The Toilet Seat

by

The group of five people, three men, and two women, turned their attention from the figure on the folding chair to Farlo, Tina, and Joey G.

A no nonsense, buff, thirty something Hispanic woman, sat in the center of the group. She wore a black sports bra and black workout power tights. Her six-pack visible. She stared at Farlo for a moment, “It took you long enough, Farlo.”

Farlo said, “I was slowed down by the kid, Mia,” Farlo kept his eyes on the woman and pointed back toward the entrance with his thumb.

“Do you mean the creeping looking homeless guy that’s using you for a human shield?”

“That would be the one,” said Farlo.

A fiftyish, crewcut gray haired guy wearing a muscle shirt and sporting biceps that looked like an oversized orange was implanted in them said, “I heard about Filo sticking you with this job. The kid must be a piece of work.”

“You don’t know the half of it, Tango,” said Farlo. “He’s only been with one woman in his entire life.”

“That’s not true,” came Joey G’s voice from somewhere behind Farlo.

Farlo didn’t turn around, he growled, “You can’t count any woman where you were so drunk or stoned you can’t remember the event.”

“Okay, it’s one,” said Joey G.

The group of five laughed.

Farlo said, “Any luck with Harry J?”

Mia said, “Filo told us no rough stuff. What we’re doing now is an intervention. For the past two weeks, Harry Js been on a tough diet. We made him go straight vegan. No meat, no dairy, no fish, no life.”

A wiry, tall, thin, sandy haired guy said, “I object. I’m a vegan. It wasn’t punishment. It was more of a detox for Harry J. And, I’d appreciate it if everyone here would say, Vee Gan instead of Vay Gan. It’s insensitive to vegans when you purposely do that.”

“Chill,” said Mia. “Then she turned back to Farlo, “It’s been a long time since we hooked up. Too long. When we finish this, why don’t you and I head out to O’Rourke’s for a few beers and talk about where we’ll go for R & R?”

From behind Farlo, “I don’t believe this.”

Farlo said, “Can we go to O’Malley’s? It’s a bit quieter, and a more sophisticated crowd.”

From behind Farlo, “What are you going to do with the three women, you promised you’d meet?”

Mia looked at Farlo, “He hasn’t read the manual, has he?”

From behind Farlo, “I don’t believe this.”

“You already said that kid. Come up with a new line,” snarled Farlo.

Two guys, who looked like Navy Seals, who wouldn’t sit near the vegan guy looked at Mia. She nodded. They got up from their chairs walked passed Farlo, fist bumped him as they passed and sidled up to Joey G.

“I didn’t do anything. He made me do it. I was coerced. He’s a lunatic. He’s nuts. He needs to be locked up,” screamed Joey G.

Farlo half turned, “Stuff it, kid. Suck it up.”

“I don’t want to suck it up,” said Joey G.

The two Navy Seal looking guys picked Joey G up and carried him to the front of the group. Mia, who in the meantime got another folding chair and placed it in front of Harry J. The two Navy Seal guys sat Joey G in the empty folding chair and then took a step toward Harry J. They stood on either side of Harry J. They turned and faced the group. Harry J was awake, but he had his eyes closed tight.

Mia said, “It’s time Harry J. Or should I use your real name?”

“No. Don’t blow my cover,” said Harry J, his eyes still closed.

“We won’t blow your cover, if you’ll open your eyes,” said Mia.

Harry J opened his eyes. He stared at Joey G. Joey G stared back at Harry J.

“What am I supposed to do, Farlo?” asked Joey G.

Farlo grumbled, “Sit still and be quiet.”

“I can do that,” said Joey G sitting still and being quiet.

Harry J said, “You know me?”

Joey G made a zipper motion that his lips were sealed and he couldn’t speak.

Harry J said, “Farlo? You ever get this kid to read the manual.”

“He refuses to read the manual. He thinks it doesn’t exist.”

“What’s he got, cauliflower rice for brains?” Harry J snarled.

“Kid, I’m going to give it to you straight,” snarled Harry J sounding as he were doing a Farlo impersonation.

Joey G shrugged his shoulders, made off like he was bored.

“Your mom’s doing time. I’ll give her credit. She’s handling it well. She’s got another four years before she can come up for parole. Maybe she’ll get it, maybe she won’t. She has a trigger point temper.”

Joey G broke the code of silence, “How do you know her?”

“We shacked up for a week, thirty-four years ago. I thought it was a perfect match until she blew a fuse when I forgot to put the toilet seat down. Hey, it’s a guy thing women don’t understand.”

The vegan interrupted, “Sensitive males understand.”

“So?” said Joey.

“I’m your father,” said Harry J.

“My father? I don’t believe you,” said Joey G.

“It’s true, kid. Farlo sent in your DNA for comparison. One-hundred percent certainty.”

“Some father,” said Joey G.

“Some son,” said Harry J.

“Okay, you two, get up and hug. Me and Farlo can feel romance in the air,” said Mia.

Harry J stood. Joey G stood.

Joey G said, “Dad, can you help me out of a jam tonight?”

“What is it son?” asked Harry J.

“I’m supposed to meet two women at O’Rourke’s tonight. Would you like one?”

“What are we waiting for, Joey G?” said Harry J wrapping his muscular arms around Joey G.

“Dad, one more question?”

“Anything?”

“Who’s Filo?”

He Needs Relationship Help

by

Farlo turned and looked at the garbage truck, “We don’t need this. We’re abandoning it. It’s time to rescue Harry J.”

Joey G held up his right hand like a cop directing traffic, “Hold on Farlo. We just can’t abandon a garbage truck. We got permission to borrow it.”

“Look, kid. Read your manual. It’s on page 734, section 5, paragraph 3. I quote it since you can’t find the time for reading the manual. It reads, “You can abandon a garbage truck even if you borrowed it from a beautiful, fully figured African American woman.”

Joey G said, “Do you think you’re talking to a second grader? You made all that up.”

“Didn’t. Filo has a gift to predict future contingencies. Don’t hold me back, Kid,” grumbled Farlo.

“If you’re so smart. What will I tell the beautiful, fully figured African American who wants to have drinks with me at O’Rourke’s? What if she wants to stay longer than an hour? What am going to do with tough dame?” asked Joey G.

Farlo glanced at Tina, “Do I look like his father?” Then he turned his attention to Joey G, “What did you learn in school? You’ve got no clue on working the relationship. I bet the longest you’ve been a relationship is seventy-two hours.”

Tina barked twice in agreement with Farlo.

Joey G was puzzled for a moment, then he said, “How many days is that?”

“You are dense. I think you got one too many hits to the head. You play football?”

“Fantasy football at the bar. You think the pot smoking in high school messed up my brain?”

Farlo said, “You asked and answered your question. That’s a good start. Seventy-two hours is three days.”

Joey G beamed in triumph, “You are so wrong. You don’t know everything. You only think you do.”

Farlo scratched his head. “I’m usually pretty good at this. How many days?”

“A whole weekend, one time.”

Farlo looked down to Tina, “It’s not worth it, is it girl?”

Tina Barked.

“What?” asked Joey G.

“Let’s go. I don’t want to miss Harry J again,” barked Farlo sounding like an agitated pit bull. He turned and walked toward the delivery door of the Crack House. Tina followed. Joey G stood still basking in his victory over Farlo.

Farlo reached the door, turned back, and said, “Well? You gonna stand there recalling the one exciting moment in your life before I entered it?”

Joey G scurried to the delivery door. He said, “What’s the plan? Will you mentor me on how to handle the beautiful, fully figured African American woman who digs me? What about the tough dame. She thinks I’m cute. I got two hot women after me.”

“What you have, kid, are two beautiful women who want to do charity work. No more talk, follow me.” Farlo opened the delivery door. It opened to the hallway. The tough dame stood three-fourths of the way down the hall and pointed to a room. She blew a kiss toward the trio.

Farlo extended his right arm, pretended he caught the kiss, and put his hand on his lips and sent a kiss back. The tough dame mimicked Farlo’s moves, turned and walked toward a door that left to the Crack House’s store.

Joey G whispered, “That move was so unfair. Her kiss was meant for me. I’m sure it was. If I had a few more seconds I would have made an acrobatic catch to put you to shame.”

Farlo ignored Joey G’s complaint and strode down the hallway. He stopped by the door indicated by the tough dame. Tina sat on her haunches next to Farlo. Joey G trailed, practicing extending his left arm high over his head.

When Joey G approached Farlo and Tina, Farlo put his finger to his lips and pointed to the door. Farlo stepped toward the door and put his ear against it. Joey G did the same. Tina sat on her haunches, feeling superior to the human species because dogs had super sensitive hearing.

Farlo pulled his head back from the door, Joey G stayed against the door. Farlo grabbed Joey G by the shoulder and yanked him back. He got up close to Joey G’s face and whispered, “On the count of two we’re going in. Get your head in the game.”

Joey G whispered, “What’s with counting to two instead of three?”

“I’m making it simple for you,” growled Farlo.

Farlo placed his hand on the door knob. He slowly twisted it. He moved the door a fraction of an inch, it wasn’t locked. “One, two.”

Farlo opened the door, walked in and stared at five people, three men and two women sitting in chairs who were focused on a solitary figure sitting on a folding chair in front of them. Tina and Joey G stood in order behind Farlo. Joey G was wondering if Farlo’s body would stop any bullet before it reached him.

Who are these people? Which one is Harry J? Is Filo in the room?

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